You may recall that last week, I wrote about my car, a 1990 Chevrolet Corsica that has a history of unexplained, scary phenomena, including a steering wheel fire in the middle of a wedding (seriously). Well, I am happy announce that I am no longer the owner of that demonic car. It is gone, in favor of a 1998 Saturn with leather seats, a sunroof and cruise control.
At least I think I am happy to announce that.
Here's what happened: My car was making so many funny noises that I had developed a fear that something, like the passenger side, was going to fall off at any moment. On Wednesday, after a new noise appeared, I finally snapped and decided that if I didn't get another vehicle, I was going to need some powerful sedatives. Plus, it makes more sense to make payments on a new(er) vehicle than it does to keep pouring money into a 12-year-old car that has a pyromaniacal streak.
I did some research and decided that no new cars that I would want were really in my price range, although some came close. With that, I decided to head to my local Saturn dealer and look around.
That's just what I did at 5:30 p.m. last Thursday. I parked my car and started perusing the shiny, impeccably clean vehicles that surrounded me. It was kind of surreal; after all, clean cars are about as common as land-roving sperm whales here in Nevada, where the atmosphere is made up of two parts of dust for every one part of air.
I looked around unmolested for about five minutes, but then I made a mistake: I examined a car near the corner of the dealership building. I had no idea that Jerry the Salesman was about to pounce from the other side.
"HIIIIIIIII there!" he said, nearly giving me heart palpitations. Despite this harrowing beginning, Jerry the Salesman would be the major player in my life for the next four hours.
We first looked at a beautiful 2002 SL1 with a few groovy options. We even took it for a test drive. It was a nice car, and I was definitely interested. After the drive, Jerry the Salesman asked me about my price range. I told him. He got quiet all of a sudden.
"It looks like this may be too much car for you," he finally said.
Nonetheless, we decided to "crunch the numbers." Frankly, this made me nervous. I was a rookie, never having shopped for a car at a dealership before, and let's just say that as a species, car salesmen are known for having the ethics of Bill Clinton's evil twin.
He asked me about my down payment. I told him I had about five bucks on me. He asked about my trade-in. I showed it to him. He seemed depressed.
Nonetheless, he crunched the numbers, and the numbers weren't pretty. While my credit was good, the payments higher than I wanted to pay.
This was too much car for me.
With that, we were looking at the used cars. We looked at several that were OK, but unexciting. Then we looked at a little, white '98 Saturn SL2 in impeccable shape. I was kinda cool. We took it for a test drive.
Dammit. I fell in love. It was like a glove. A really expensive glove.
With that, it was time for more numbers-crunching. Jerry the Salesman came back with an offer that was closer to my price range, but it was not quite there.
And here is where I can take some pride: I didn't take the first offer, and I negotiated a little. They only wanted to give me $500 for my Corsica. I told them that I'd researched the value to be about $1,350. They told me that would be about right, except that my car's interior looked like it had housed several rabid beavers. Nonetheless, I talked them into giving me $1,000. I also got them to add in a warranty and lower the price slightly.
By now, I was tired and hungry; it was past 9 p.m. After all the negotiations, the monthly payment price was almost to the range I'd set before the whole thing had started.
And that's when I shook Jerry the Salesman's hand. And filled enough paperwork to keep an entire paper mill in business for a couple decades
Now, for the first time in my life, I have a car that I would not be mortified to pick up a date in. (This would be nice if I actually had a dating life.) But for the first time in my life, I also have a car payment every month between now and 2007.
I am excited, but I am also a little nervous. But as long as this car avoids bursting into flames, I figure I am better off than I was, aren't I?
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who is wondering whether or not Jerry the Salesman should be placed on his Christmas card list. Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and he may be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.